The Harry Potter Survivor Game
by luvsanime02
Summary: A fanfiction game modeled after the popular TV series, Survivor. All of the chapters are one-shots written for that challenge's prompt, and co-authored by the various writers on Team Slytherpuff. UPDATE: The teams were switched around, and so this is now where the new Team Gryffinclaw posts their stories!
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer: These stories are co-authored by the team members of Slytherpuff. As tribe leader, I am responsible for posting our collective works. Also, HP belongs to JKR, and none of us are making money from this. **

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All of the stories in this collection are written for the Survivor Game from the Harry Potter FanFiction Challenges Forum.

I (luvsanime02) am the tribe leader of team Slytherpuff. The other members of the team are:

firefly81

Ambrosia Ice

The Summer Nightingale

DarkIceAngelFlare

Emma C.C.S

Flying Bottle Gnomes

KeepCalmAndWriteSomething (First Reward Challenge Only)


	2. First Reward Challenge

**Prompt: Write about Dramione after the Second Wizarding War**

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Diagon Alley was packed with people rushing about. If she wasn't so excited about the brand new edition of _Hogwarts: A History_ finally coming out, there was no way she would be pushing through these crowds. She had a great dislike for being around so many people, and often found herself keeping her hand on her wand. The constant stares and whispers that followed her steps were also unwelcome and made her extremely uncomfortable. Five years after the death of Voldemort, one would think she would be of little interest, but it happened every time she left the house. She felt relief as Flourish and Blotts came into view. Being such a good customer – and a war hero, of course – afforded her some perks in the bookstore. Mr. Flourish's eyes lit up as she stepped into the store.

"Ms. Granger! I figured we would be seeing you here today. I've set aside a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ just for you. Don't tell anyone, but I was able to pull some strings and convinced the author to sign it for you. Not that he needed much convincing!"

"Oh, Mr. Flourish! You didn't have to do that, but thank you so much!"

"What's this? Granger getting special treatment? Colour me shocked."

Her back immediately stiffened and straightened at the sound of the drawling voice behind her. It was a voice she hadn't heard in years and yet one she would never forget. She whirled around, intent on telling him off, only to be stopped in her tracks at the look on his face. Was that... a smile? She narrowed her eyes at him, unsure of how to proceed.

"Malfoy," she greeted him cautiously. Mr. Flourish, conscious of the rising tension, made some excuses and quickly left.

"Granger. It's nice to see you."

Almost dropping her brand new book at his words, she fumbled to keep it in her grasp. She gaped at him, even knowing it wasn't the most attractive look on her, but she was completely taken by surprise.

"So, is this all it takes to render the all-mighty Granger speechless? I'll have to alert the presses."

"Are you... are you teasing me? Maybe I should be the one alerting the presses. Malfoy, the Prince of the Pure-bloods, speaking to a Muggle-born without being a complete prat."

As she was already watching him closely, she noticed a flash of what appeared to be guilt mixed with sadness cross his face before it disappeared. How odd. It was so foreign to see such emotions on Malfoy's face that it actually made her feel dreadful.

"I... Malfoy... Sorry, that was rude of me."

"It's fine. It's not like you were lying, right? Look, I want you to know, that's not me anymore. I don't think that way."

His words were spoken with such conviction that she was sure he was telling her the truth. She smiled shyly at him, letting him know that she believed him. His answering smile lit up his face, making him appear even more handsome than he already was. Wait... did she just call Malfoy handsome?

"So, Granger, I was hoping you might consent to accompany me to tea, or whatever you wish, sometime. I have some things I'd like to say to you, but in a more private setting than this packed bookstore."

Just when she thought he couldn't surprise her more, he asks her out. She wondered briefly if she was dreaming. Deciding she was way too curious to not find out what he wanted to say, she found herself agreeing.

"Sure, Malfoy. I'd like that."

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Draco was not nervous. He was just going to see a Muggle-born witch in a private room in one of the best teahouses in London. It was nothing that would get back to the press, or Merlin forbid, his mother. So, really, there was no anxiety at all as he stepped out of the fireplace and followed a server to his usual room.

Yet he still felt a rush of relief when he saw the bushy-haired witch sitting at the table that had never before entertained anyone who was not a Pure-blood.

"Is it common to be late for something you invited someone to?" Hermione asked, setting down the book she had been perusing before his arrival.

"Do you always refer to your dates as a 'something?'" the blond replied, aiming for flippancy as he took a seat across from her.

If Hermione had been surprised by Malfoy's apology in the bookstore, she was stunned by his admission now. "This is a date?" she asked, before she could collect her thoughts.

Draco frowned. "Why else would I invite you out?"

"I- I thought…" she stumbled over her words. "You said you had some things to tell me?"

Draco smirked at her as he leaned back slightly in his chair. "Yes, that's what men usually do when they take beautiful women out on a date."

Hermione felt a blush rise on her cheeks. "Just say what you want to say. That's all I came for," she said, picking up the menu so she didn't have to see that smug look on Malfoy's face.

The menu was yanked out of her hands and she found herself caught in a gaze of molten silver.

"Granger, I– No, that's wrong," Malfoy hesitated, and she couldn't help but wonder if she had ever seen him so lacking in self-assurance. "May I call you Hermione?" he finally asked.

The red spread across her cheeks as she nodded slowly, and she blamed it on the smile that she got in return. It really did suit his aristocratic features. It had nothing to do with the way the syllables of her name rolled sensually off his tongue, because that would mean she was thinking about his tongue and she wasn't, not even when it slipped out to wet his suddenly dry lips.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "Hermione, I wanted to apologise for… well, for everything. You were right when you called me a complete prat. My actions were unbecoming of someone like me, and-"

"And what exactly do you mean, 'someone like me?' A Pure-blood? An heir to a wealthy wizarding house?" Hermione interrupted him.

"I was actually thinking more along the lines of me being a person. A human being. Just like you," he said softly, and returned the menu to her hands. "I treated you like you were lesser than me, because for the longest time I saw Muggles and Muggle-borns as being a separate and inferior species. But I've since realised that such thinking is foolish. We're both people, and you are the better one, because of your actions and your sense of humanity." He sighed as he turned his gaze to the table. "I don't expect forgiveness, but," his eyes found hers again, "I am truly sorry for everything I've done to you."

Hermione was silent for a while, turning over his words in her head. Finally, she faced him fully. "I don't think I can forgive you just yet, but someday, I think I could."

Draco smiled at her, and tilted his head in acknowledgement. "That was more than I could hope for, Hermione."

"So," Hermione returned his smile with her own. "If you're sorry for everything you've done… does that include asking me out on a date?"

Draco opened his menu as he replied, "Of course not. That was the best decision I've made regarding you so far."

Hermione laughed as they fell into an easy repartee. The following two hours passed in a blur of debates about the latest advances in potion-making, the new Wizengamot regulations and whether the new curriculum at Hogwarts was producing inferior wizards and witches.

"Is that the time?" Hermione asked during a lull in the conversation, placing her empty teacup down.

"Indeed. Where did it all go?" Draco replied, taking her cup from her. Hermione raised her eyebrow at the action. "What? Don't you believe in Divination?" he asked her.

She rolled her eyes. "It's all dragon dung. Divination is the dumbest branch of magic I've ever heard about, and it's hardly right, if at all."

The Pure-blood wizard smirked as he glanced at her tea dregs. "I should hope you're wrong, as impossible as that may seem." He leaned closer as he whispered, "Your tea leaves predict that you and I will be meeting again soon. They seem to think it will be for dinner at that new restaurant on Diagon Alley, most likely tomorrow."

"That's rather detailed for a prediction," Hermione said, biting back a laugh.

"I was rubbish at the subject," he replied, shrugging casually.

This time she did laugh, even as she agreed to meet with him again. It seemed like the Slytherin Prince could be quite charming when he wanted to be.

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Hermione was sure to wear a hole in her rug with the amount of pacing that she had done lately. But it couldn't be helped; it was a habit that she had developed over the years. Somehow, the act seemed to help her clear her mind and think rationally. And never before did she need that ability more than now.

Because Draco Malfoy was an enigma. And he was due to be here any minute now.

Yesterday, he had sent her an owl asking her if she wanted to hang out again. She'd replied that he could just come over to her flat, and that they could figure things out from there.

It all seemed a bit surreal. If you'd asked her ten years ago if she thought she'd ever invite Draco Malfoy into her home, she probably would have died laughing. But here she was, jittery with nervousness and listening closely for a knock at her door.

Of course, they had spent plenty of time together already. At quiet teahouses and fancy restaurants. For walks in the park, where they'd laid on the damp grass to stare up at the stars. She'd even dragged him to a Muggle theatre once, where he had spent the entire movie asking her questions about how the screen and projector worked.

But they had never spent time together at her home. There was something innately personal about it, and the thought sent prickles across her skin.

When the knock came, even though she had been expecting it, she jumped slightly. Subconsciously, she ran her fingers through her hair to straighten it. Taking a deep breath, she rushed forward to answer the door.

If Hermione was being honest with herself, and that was something that was hard to do when it came to this man, the sight of him standing in her doorway, looking like an angel and a demon rolled into one, almost took her breath away.

He smiled, and something about the action seemed mischievous. Before she could question it, Draco had leaned towards her. Her eyes widened as she tried to figure out what to do.

She should probably put a stop to this. But then the only thing between them was their breath, and the logical part of her brain seemed to shut down.

She was now running on nothing but instinct, and letting her eyes flutter shut, Hermione leaned forward to meet him. And then their lips touched and everything else was gone.

No disapproving family and friends. No words or actions that they both wished they could take back. No bitter pasts. Just both of them together in the moment.

When it was over, and it was over far, far too soon, she turned away from him. Hermione tried to ignore the fierce blush that had swept across her face and cleared her throat nervously. "I thought that part was supposed to come at the end of the date."

That same mischievous grin had returned to his face. Taking a step forward and shutting the door behind him, he said, "Well, I didn't think I could wait that long."

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Hermione and Draco had argued. Again. It was becoming a common occurrence. She hadn't told anyone they'd been dating for nearly a year, not even Harry. She wouldn't tell Ron, least of all when he started yelling, which Ron would probably begin doing. She'd dated the Weasley for a couple years, after the war, but had cut off the relationship (to be perfectly honest, it'd been mostly a physical one, anyways) a year before she'd met Draco, again.

It had been for a petty reason that she and Draco broke up, and it had been public. She just assumed everyone, if they hadn't already, now knew they'd been in a _'relationship_.'

Her heart broke whenever she thought about all the good in their relationship. It outweighed the bad, did it not? Maybe if she'd been a bit more patient with him, it could have, and would have, worked out.

She tried avoiding all the places that reminded her of him, even if it was in the slightest way possible. Like Diagon Alley, where they'd first bumped into each other, and where he showed that he wasn't the spoiled brat she thought he was.

Was it the wizarding world that made her heart ache? Perhaps. It held so many bittersweet memories that it was overbearing, at times. She'd survive this heartbreak. After all, she had survived the war, and without her parents (whom she still hadn't found).

They both suffered, for different reasons. It wasn't everyday that you find love, true love, and reject it out of fear. That's what their relationship had become: fear. They both didn't want to live without each other, but with his family... He didn't want to lose them, either. They were all he'd ever known. She'd already lost hers.

Ron refused to talk to her, and by default he wasn't speaking to Harry as well. Which was difficult, seeing as Harry and Ginny had a child. But the Boy-Who-Lived stood by her, through all her ups and downs. She felt guilty for not telling her best friend, but she hadn't told him out of respect to Draco.

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Draco should have known that something was off right away when he saw his mother was wearing a new robe to the dinner table. He hadn't been paying too much attention to her, though, or to anything, really. Again and again, his mind brought him back to his argument with Hermione. He just didn't see why they couldn't keep their relationship a secret, even if only for a little while longer! She could tell her friends if she had to, even, just so long as they kept it a secret from the Wizarding public, or anyone else that might let his relationship with a Muggle-born get back to Draco's parents.

It wasn't that Draco feared either of them would react badly. He _knew _they would. They would look at Hermione Granger and see only her blood, her Muggle heritage. They wouldn't see how bright she was, how beautiful her eyes were, or how sly and humorous she could be when relaxed in his company.

So, no, Draco didn't want to tell his parents. He didn't want them to spoil something that was going so perfectly in his life. Too bad he had done that just fine on his own.

He thinks he can be forgiven, then, for not noticing his mother's attire when he came down for dinner one evening, and then froze in shock at the voice that assaulted his ears next.

"Draco! Darling, it's been forever since we've seen each other!"

Even if he had somehow managed to forget that grating voice (and he hadn't), he could never forget the overly-flowery smell of the perfume worn by one Pansy Parkinson. The woman was acting like a girl as she stood up from her seat and threw her arms around his neck, forcing his unfortunate nose to get a very big whiff of overly-ripe flowers.

Hermione wore some Muggle perfume, if she went out somewhere. It was light and fresh and smelled lovely.

Over Pansy's shoulder, he sent a look of disgruntled anger at his parents, both of whom had the gall to pretend to ignore his predicament.

And on the evening went. Draco knew his parents had set this up. He didn't even need to ask. One look over at his mother's perfectly done-up face, and listening to her engage Pansy in polite small talk that Draco knew she didn't actually care about, was enough for him.

Pansy giggled. Draco had forgotten how much she giggled, and reached over to lean her head on his shoulder (at the dinner table!), and cooed over him like he was the best person in the whole world and nothing would make her happier than to spend every moment in his presence.

Hermione debated with him. She was passionate about everything, and when she got really into a topic her eyes would light up and she'd get the slightest flush of pink in her cheeks. She loved discussing his research with him, or her own, into all hours of the night, as they snuggled under a blanket together on her squishy couch in her small, Muggle flat while the damn cat glared at him the whole time.

Was he really stuck sitting in his dining room being half-strangled by Pansy Parkinson, of all people, when he could be on that couch instead?

Draco was quite proud of himself. He managed about twenty minutes of Pansy's simpering and unsubtle brushing against his arm before he abruptly stood. Though he didn't show it, Draco took immense pleasure in Pansy almost toppling from her chair at the sudden loss of his support.

"Father, mother, dinner was lovely," he said smoothly, meaning anything but. "However, I'm sorry to say that I forgot an appointment with someone very important. Good evening."

He turned on his heel and walked quickly from the room, hoping Pansy didn't try to follow. Luckily, she seemed to have been struck dumb(er) by his sudden departure. Feeling lighter than he had in weeks, Draco let a small grin form on his face as he walked out the front doors and past the gates to the edge of the Appariton wards. He had a stubborn, feisty, and independent Muggle-born witch to apologise to.

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Hermione was, ironically, in Flourish and Blotts again when Draco burst through the doors looking lost, but at the same time a bit like a madman. It was a strange mixture, accompanied by the fact that he loudly banged the door shut and wildly looked around. It was rather alarming to see the confident man she knew looking so... _desperate_.

She was sitting on the second floor next to the railing, which explained why she had a perfectly clear view of him while his eyes frantically scoured the bookstore - for what, she hoped she knew, but Hermione didn't dare allow herself to sink into meaningless fantasies.

That was, until he must have sensed her eyes boring into his back. He whipped around and saw her sitting there, her hands clenched tightly around the book she'd been reading, and quite suddenly he was striding up the staircase towards her.

Hermione stood as he approached, the grey eyes she'd so missed locked on hers. She didn't know what she expected or what she wanted him to do, but the words were out of Draco's mouth before she could begin to process what was happening.

"I'm sorry."

Never in her life had she heard him say those words so simply, so sincerely, without the resistance his pride often pushed for. Draco, she knew, found it hard to apologise, and every time they'd argued before, he'd apologised in every way _but_ the simplest.

But their last argument had been different, and what (hopefully) would end it, she supposed, had to be different too.

"What are you doing here?" she asked tentatively.

"Oh, I don't know, I just felt like reading," he said sarcastically, before giving her a significant look. "What else? You like to come here Friday nights."

He'd come for her. Part of her itched to move forward, to just kiss him like she had so many times before, to reconcile with the part of her she knew had been missing ever since their argument, but the rational side of Hermione stayed still as Draco continued.

"I want to talk to you about us," he said, and frustration crept into his voice. "I thought it might go away after a bit, after a week or so. But I still wake up wondering when I'll see you again, hoping I can just hear your stubborn voice, and" - he gave a short laugh - "I even miss that damn cat of yours."

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Even she couldn't suppress a smile at that, but it quickly faded as she sighed deeply. "I've missed you too, Draco, but…" Hermione turned from him and looked down at the first floor of the shop, mindlessly flipping through the pages of the book. She spoke carefully but truthfully. "The reason we broke up wasn't for lack of love. It's because we couldn't work things out.

We didn't work then, Draco, so I still don't know how we're going to work now. I keep thinking of a way we could do this, but it always ends up with one of us being disappointed, and if we have to hide it-"

She felt Draco put his hands on her shoulders, which shivered pleasantly at his warm touch. His voice was no louder than a whisper of soft breath against her cheek as he said quietly, "We don't have to."

He paused, and she could practically feel him smile. "I give in to you, you stubborn witch. We can tell all our friends and our parents and who gives a damn if mother and father don't approve. We'll throw it in their faces if we have to, and all our friends' besides."

_This_ was love. This dizzy, exhilarating feeling of acceptance and sacrifice and wonder. Hermione let out a small, giddy laugh that sounded very unlike her. She didn't care. "We may as well print it in the _Prophet_."

"Why not?" Draco let out a long breath. "So? What do you say, Hermione? ...Have we a dea-"

His question was cut off as Hermione whipped around and shamelessly pressed her lips against his. The book was unceremoniously dropped to the floor as she placed her arms around his neck and whispered against his familiar lips, "Yes."

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Hermione might have been one of the most intelligent women he knew, but surprises weren't her strength. So, when the owl came with a hurriedly-written note telling him they would have dinner that night and to be wearing his best attire, Draco instantly knew she was going to finally ask him to live with her.

Knowing her, she would tell him all the statistical benefits of living together and would talk about why it was such a good idea. Draco snorted. Of course it was a good idea! He couldn't imagine a better way of waking up and living the rest of his life than with Hermione.

With that in mind, he arrived at her flat with a bottle of her favorite wine in hand.

She opened the door and smiled, her eyes acquiring that spark Draco loved.

"I'm glad you came, Draco," she said, greeting him with a kiss and a warm embrace.

"How could I not, when a lovely witch is waiting for me?"

Hermione blushed at his words and Draco smirked. He loved being able to make her blush and smile.

"Come in," she said. "There's something important I want to tell you, but first make yourself comfortable."

She left the wine in the kitchen as Draco sat on the couch, Crookshanks growling as he did so.

"I already know what you'll say, Hermione," he said, knowingly. "And the answer is yes."

Crookshanks meowed and Hermione let out a small gasp.

Hermione hurried back to Draco with an excited smile. Draco could actually see her hair getting frizzier with happiness.

"You're serious?" she said, sitting on his lap and kissing him. "Oh, Draco! You don't know how nervous I was. What if you said no and left me? I don't know what I would have done. I might have gone back to the Muggle world to get a degree on... something. Or traveled to Australia again. I was so afraid you would say you don't want to marry me that I ha-"

"Wait," interrupted Draco.

Hermione looked at him expectantly, and he could see she was, in fact, afraid of his answer. He searched for a hint of mocking or even the _Imperius_. Was Hermione really proposing?

"What is it, Draco?" she said, anxious. Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes, watching him intently. "You didn't know, did you?"

He shook his head and she stood up, her cheeks red, but still smiling.

"I thought you wanted us to live together," he said apologetically. "But if you want to marry, let's get married next week. Or tomorrow! I have the perfect ring and we'll worry about the cake later."

He stood up, and conjured parchment and a quill.

"Here, write the guest list. We can have the invitations sent before morning comes. I suppose you don't want anything big. Maybe, what? A hundred, or two, people?"

Draco suddenly stopped as he heard Hermione's whimsical laughter.

"Draco! We don't have to marry _right now_."

He looked at her with what she thought were very good puppy-eyes.

"B-but you said you wanted to get married, and I'm definitely sure I want you for the rest of my life." He took the parchment and quill from her hands and set it on the table. "I might have gotten the wrong idea, but I want this as much as you do."

"Of course we'll get married, Draco!" Hermione said, ecstatic. "But let's wait a few months, though."

"A few months. Got it," he said sheepishly.

She laughed again, and kissed him like she had never kissed him before.


	3. First Immunity Challenge

_**Prompt: Write a story about Fred and George Weasley using these words: refuse, show, expensive, earth, true.**_

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"A- A joke shop?" Professor McGonagall spluttered at both of them.

George was amused. It wasn't often that the two of them could surprise their Head of House so thoroughly, though he and Fred never stopped trying.

"Sure," Fred responded easily, right on cue. "There's a lot to be found in Zonko's-"

"-but we're currently developing our own line of products," George finished.

They exchanged a look of amusement. McGonagall was currently silent, but they could tell from the way her nostrils were flaring that she'd moved on from shocked to exasperated. "Oh?" she asked, archly. "And would you be willing to show me any of these 'products?'"

This time the look George shared with his twin was slightly alarmed. They recovered quickly, however, and shot their professor disarming grins.

"We couldn't possibly refuse-" Fred started.

"-the chance to display some of our products-"

"-to our favourite professor."

"We'd require, of course-"

"-a Wizard's Oath not to tell anyone about this."

Professor McGonagall spluttered again, this time at their audacity.

"I would never abuse the trust of any of my students, Mr. Weasley!"

The twins looked at each other, having another wordless conversation.

"That's true, she wouldn't," George muttered under his breath. Fred nodded in agreement. A few more seconds of silence ticked by, and then the twins came to an accord between them.

"Watch this," Fred said with a proud grin, taking a small, reddish-brown beetle out of his pocket. He placed it on the ground, and they all watched it run around in circles for a few long minutes before it collapsed into a pile of dirt.

It was actually just a basic trick of multiplying whatever element they used, and then transfiguring _that _into a certain object. So far, they'd only played around with earth and water, figuring the other two elements could come later, once all the kinks were dealt with. That way, they wouldn't accidentally set the place on fire, or blow everything around and make even more of a mess.

One thing the Weasley twins had figured out was that, depending on the element used and the intensity of the spell, whatever they were enchanting changed colours. A copper-brown was for earth, blue-green for water, and red-orange for fire. How they'd found _that_ out was a story for another day. And finally, white or silver was for air, though that last one was just an assumption; they hadn't really played around with air as much as the other elements.

McGonagall, however, hadn't previously been enlightened with the knowledge of any of their other little experiments. She'd looked a tad less than impressed when they'd pulled out the beetle, but neither twin missed the surprised eyebrow that shot up almost to her hairline as she stared at the little mound of dirt.

Still, she simply pursed her lips at their expectant grins. "I suppose this is what you've been doing rather than your homework? Professor Sprout says you two haven't turned in an assignment since December."

"Well, of course we haven't," said George in surprise. "Why would we, when we could be doing so many more useful things?"

"Like getting people to laugh, for example," Fred put in.

"Think about it. You see all these students in the library-"

"-studying for their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. And all the while-"

"-they look downright _miserable_-"

"-and who are we to just do nothing?"

"We're kinder than that," George finished, earnestly. "Who doesn't appreciate a good laugh?"

Professor McGonagall frowned at them, though that was nothing new. She then let out a long sigh, and said in clipped tones, "Assuming this 'hobby' of yours becomes your profession, where would you get the money? Supplies for all of your merchandise, and testing of them, will be quite expensive, not to mention renting or buying the place for your store."

"We're looking for investors," Fred said mildly.

"And we've already started saving up," George replied.

Professor McGonagall sighed. This was the part of her job she hated the most. She could see the brilliance of these two, even when they didn't apply it to their schoolwork. They were so talented, but this joke shop of theirs was, well, a joke. They had no experience with this sort of thing, and now she had to be the one to make them see the light.

"Have either of you considered becoming a master in one of your subjects?"

The twins stared at her, confused.

"A transfiguration master, perhaps, or even a potions master. While your marks aren't exceptional in either, your creativity and talent for them is unparalleled. If both of you actually studied, you would do quite well on your own O.W.L.s," she continued.

Fred sighed and George looked annoyed.

"She's just like Mum," George muttered, and Fred nodded in agreement.

Turning again to face her, they continued to argue the point.

"Not to worry," Fred assured her.

"For our testing phase-" George informed.

"-we have all of Hogwarts! Our fellow, brave students–"

"-are more than willing to try-"

"-our wonderful inventions for free," Fred finished, triumphantly.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Oh really? Do these students even know they're being used as guinea pigs?"

Their shifty-eyed glances to the side were all the answer she needed.

Outside Professor McGonagall's office, Professor Dumbledore sucked quietly on a sherbet lemon as he turned the corner to hear:

"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY, ARE THE TWO OF YOU OUT OF YOUR MINDS?"

He smiled serenely. It looked like it was another fine day at Hogwarts, he mused cheerily, continuing on his way.


	4. Second Reward Challenge

**Prompt: ****Write about Harry and Ginny's kids: Albus, James, and Lily.**

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James was good-looking, smart and athletic. He was a Gryffindor, the Quidditch captain at fifteen and had girls all over him. But he had a problem.

And that problem was currently leaning forward on her broomstick, zooming towards the goals with the Quaffle resting in her arms.

"POTTER!" screamed a Gryffindor Chaser. "PAY ATTENTION!"

Being the Gryffindor team's captain, James almost turned around to scream right back at his teammate that he _was _paying attention to the other team's Chaser - just perhaps to the wrong things, like how her curly hair was flying in the wind, and how her face was scrunched up in concentration.

He was certainly not paying attention to the Beater's bat in his hand, or the fact that he was in the perfect position to aim a Bludger at her back.

"All right, all right!" he called, getting into position to hit the Bludger. Alison Pemberley, the Slytherin Chaser, was drawing back her arms, just about to shoot.

He only had a couple of seconds left if he wanted to hit her hard enough to knock the Quaffle out of her hands, but James somehow found himself unable to swing the bat. He suddenly had a very strange thought, one he had never once before considered in his four-year Quidditch career as a Beater: was it really _fair_ to aim Bludgers at girls like Alison Pemberley?

Yes, she was a Slytherin, but she was still a _girl_ - and a very attractive one at that. If James shot the Bludger at her now and broke her leg or something, when would he ever get the chance to ask her out? It wasn't very fair, was it, to aim a Bludger at her when she wasn't even looking.

His grip on the bat slackened as Alison raised her arms to score, and an odd sensation bubbled up in his chest. James Potter was known to be one of the most competitive Quidditch players at Hogwarts, but he didn't feel very competitive at the moment. In fact, he felt rather content - _proud_, even - to watch attractive and athletic Alison Pemberley shoot the Quaffle into the hoop, make the shot, and cheer for her team as Slytherin's score rose above Gryffindor's.

"James, you idiot!" yelled his cousin, Roxanne Weasley, from halfway across the pitch. She had a very loud voice, and this was why, to James' mortification, both Quidditch teams could hear her perfectly as she said, "Just because you _like_ her doesn't mean you can't hit Bludgers at her!"

James felt himself turning red at the ears and scowled at her. "Go back to playing! We've still got a chance!" But when he turned to talk to the Keeper, he saw Alison Pemberley staring at him with a contemplative expression. He hurriedly wiped the scowl from his face and put on a charming smile. The odd, bubbly feeling returned when she flashed a cheerful grin back at him.

_It's a promise, _James thought melodramatically as his ears burned and his smile widened. _A promise that this isn't so hopeless after all_.

The rest of the game passed in a blur. Slytherin scored once more while Gryffindor scored twice, leaving the game at a tie when Portia Montague of Slytherin managed to catch the Snitch.

As the green and silver stands erupted in cheers, James dejectedly led his team back to the ground, where the Slytherin players were already hollering about a common room party at the top of their lungs.

"Next time, mates," he called to his team as they made their way back to the locker rooms.

He was just about to follow them when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. James turned to see Alison herself standing awkwardly behind him, her hands clasped behind her back.

"Hi," she said, smiling hesitantly.

He must have left his usual cocky confidence somewhere on the pitch (perhaps with his Beater's bat), because all James managed to say was "Er, hello there."

Alison tugged at her green robes as she said, "I know you could have hit me. Back then, before I scored." When he gaped at her, she added, "I saw that you had the Bludger. You had a while to hit it, too." She tilted her head. "So why didn't you?"

James could hardly answer that truthfully, especially since she was _standing no more than two feet away_ and he could see every perfect eyelash as she blinked, every strand of hair as the wind blew them around gently.

"I had some trouble with my bat," he said smoothly. "I would've if I could've. Not that," he rushed to say, "I wanted to _hit_ you. Quite the opposite, actually. I mean, I would've for the sake of the game. You know. Erm. Yeah."

Alison looked like she was suppressing a laugh, and James couldn't really blame her. Though his ears tinged pink, something in her warm eyes emboldened him, and he leaned in conspiratorially, thinking that he might as well embarrass himself twice at the same time while he could.

"Hey, listen. You know there's a trip to Hogsmeade next weekend, right? Well, I hear there's this dashing young man by the name of James Potter who would like to bring a pretty girl along with him, and you seem like the perfect choice."

Alison finally let loose a laugh, but she also nodded. "I think there's this pretty Slytherin Chaser who might be willing to go with him, if they made a date at The Three Broomsticks for around eleven?"

James could feel himself grinning. He knew that they both probably looked ridiculous just standing there on the pitch still in their Quidditch robes, but he didn't care. He had a date for the next Hogsmeade weekend with Alison Pemberley.

James Potter was completely doomed, and his team had lost the Quidditch match against Slytherin, but for the moment the start of his year had never seemed better.

########

Albus looked around swiftly, trying to stay unnoticed. When the coast seemed clear, he ducked into a nearby, unused classroom. Looking around, it was obvious that no one had been in there for a very long time, if the amount of dust everywhere was any indication. That made it just perfect for his needs. Taking out his charmed Galleon - and thanking Rose for showing him the spell - he sent his message and waited.

Ten minutes later, the heavy door creaked open slowly and a blond head peeked around it. Catching Al's eye, the blond haired boy entered the room fully and then closed the door behind him. Excited to see his friend, Al rushed over to give him a big hug. Potters were big on hugging, after all.

As Scorpius laughed at him and playfully pushed him away, Albus was left wondering once again just what the feeling was that shot through his body when he touched his best friend. Pushing it out of his mind, he focused on what Scorpius was telling him. He'd think about it some more. Later.

########

It was Lily's first year at Hogwarts. Her family had always been in Gryffindor, but she didn't want to follow her family. Perhaps she'd ask the Sorting Hat to put her in Slytherin; it wasn't as Dark as it had been in her father and mother's time, and the prejudice against Slytherins was less now, though it was still there.

She fidgeted as she sat on the train. Her brothers were older and more experienced. They could make her life miserable, if they wanted, though she doubted they would. Family was blood and bonds, right? It couldn't be thrown away just because she ended up in Slytherin, the house they didn't like. Well, it wasn't the house, per say, but it was some of the people in it. Some still bullied others because of their blood status, especially the Muggle-borns.

Her brothers thought of her as a fragile flower, she knew, though she was anything but. She might've been named after her grandmother and a flower, but she wouldn't be crushed by a small blow. Being raised with a dozen older cousins did that to a girl.


	5. Second Immunity Challenge

**Prompt: ****Write a story based off the song, "Centuries," by Fall Out Boy.**

########

It had been discussed, more times than could be counted, the events surrounding the death of The Chosen One, though more than a century had passed.

There were whole tomes dedicated to his life and to his passing. For years, generations of witches and wizards had fallen asleep listening to Professor Binns drone on about the Boy-Who-Lived, and many seventeen-year-olds had frantically poured over his biographies as they studied for their NEWTs.

Harry Potter, after all, was only the most widely-known wizard of the century.

"_Harry was a one-of-kind wizard," recalls his best friend, Hermione Jean Granger. "It frustrated me sometimes how quickly he could master a spell. Just don't mention potions! I still don't know how he passed that OWL."_

Every insignificant detail mattered, as Leanna Lupin discovered. She barely suppressed a sob as she looked at the enormous pile of books she needed to get through just to study for her History of Magic NEWT. And all of it about Harry blasted Potter! Even the Goblin Wars had to be better than this!

She picked a book at random and flipped it open.

"_Harry James Potter is often regarded as one of the greatest leaders of the Light, alongside Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, but in doing so the wizarding world turns their eyes away from the truth: Harry Potter was a Dark wizard."_

'Wait, back up.'

Leanna stared at the opening paragraph again before skeptically turning to the front of the book. The title boldly stated: _The Darker Side of Light - A True Recollection of Light Wizards and their Dealings with the Dark Arts. _

She raised her eyebrows in interest and returned to her page with a newfound curiosity.

"_The highly acclaimed 'Honest Biography of the Boy-Who-Lived,' by Hugo Weasley, glossed over much of Harry James Potter's early life, including incidents where he displayed the same cruelty that was condemned in Tom Marvolo Riddle, Junior, also known as Voldemort. These incidents included setting a boa constrictor on his muggle cousin, speaking Parseltongue, blowing up his aunt, and using a dark spell to severely harm his school-boy rival, Draco Malfoy." _

'They've never mentioned this in class,' Leanna thought, brow furrowing as she turned the page.

She was just about to eagerly continue reading when the book was suddenly snatched from her hands by an annoyed librarian.

"You can't read this! It's from the Restricted Section and you don't have a permission slip!" hissed Madam Perfunctory. With a final glare at the cowering girl, she stalked away with the book in tow.

Leanne sighed as she returned to the stack of boring books filled with the same politically-correct facts that she had heard over and over. 'Looks like the only entertainment to be had from this exercise was just taken away,' she thought sourly. 'I wonder if that was all true? Maybe it was just a few mistakes he made when he was younger. Harry Potter couldn't have been a Dark wizard. He was a legendary hero… A few mistakes don't erase that.'

########

Oswauld Weasley glared balefully at the rope leading into the Restricted Section. His ancestors must be turning over in their graves somewhere. Here he was, a Weasley, about to have free reign over the Restricted Section… with permission.

It galled him, how by-the-book he was. Yet he needed to reference some new information to get extra credit for his History of Magic essay and… Gosh, he was a failure of a Weasley.

Trying not to catch the attention of his younger brothers, who would never let him hear the end of it, he slipped inside the darkened section of the library. His eyes slid over the titles, trying to locate the correct book.

Finally, he saw the rare first edition of _My Dealings with The Chosen One,_ by Alfred Monterey. 'Yes!' he cheered internally. 'Now I can finally put to rest those rumours about Harry Potter being queer.' He pulled out the book hurriedly, excited to see the often-misquoted chapter that had created such nefarious lies about the hero. However, his movements were too quick for the barely-used bookshelf and several other books came falling out along with the biography.

Oswauld bit back a groan as he started to set the hardcover tomes back into place. One caught his eye. _The Untold Story of Voldemort: How Neglect and Albus Dumbledore Created the Greatest Dark Wizard of All Time,_ read the title.

"_What many don't know is that Tom Riddle, Junior (or Voldemort, as we remember him) was orphaned at a young age. He grew up bullied for being 'different' until he turned around and bullied his torturers back. _

_When he reached eleven, Tom Riddle received a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. This was his invitation to attend the popular institution of learning in 1938." _

The words in the introduction began to blur. Oswauld shook his head in boredom and almost put the book back onto the shelf. Idly flipping to the end, however, a phrase jumped out at him.

"_Albus Dumbledore, famed defeater of Grindelwald, knew that Tom was abused at home and yet he did nothing to save him._

_Perhaps, if he'd done something, Harry Potter wouldn't have lost his parents. We might not have been in a war that spanned over two decades, due to ignoring one child's pleas for help, before the turn of the twenty-first century."_

Well, that was certainly interesting. Oswauld pondered if that was true or not. Could Dumbledore have really stopped the Second Wizarding War before it had even started?

Sometimes, just one mistake _was_ all that it took.

########

If there was one thing that Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, and Tom Riddle had in common, it was that no one would be forgetting their names for a very long time. Their stories were similar and filled with mistakes, darkness, truths, and lies. People would be repeating their names for many, many years to come.

_We'll go down in history_

_Remember me for centuries..._


	6. Third Reward Challenge

**Prompt: Write about each of the Marauder's first dates.**

########

The parade of many girls started in fourth year. It was officially the 'time' to start dating. And Sirius was ready.

Allison Emmet was his first choice. She was tall, dark, and _hot. _He went right for it.

He didn't even tell James first.

"Hello."

Allison looked at him. A bit weirdly. "Hi..." she said unsurely.

"So. I'm a guy, you're a girl… wanna go on a date?" Sirius flashed his award-winning smile at her.

Allison furrowed her eyebrows at him. Never a good sign.

"Um… you're cute but… I have a boyfriend."

Oh.

"Bummer," Sirius called to her now-retreating back. "Tell me when you guys break up!"

_Two Months Later_

"Hey," someone called him. Sirius turned around to see Allison standing there a little awkwardly.

He smiled, already knowing from the Hogwarts gossip what this was most likely about. "Was there something you wanted?" he asked, acting casual.

Allison shifted her bag, then said, "There's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up. Want to go together?"

Okay, Sirius could admire her bravery, asking out someone she'd turned down before. "What about that boyfriend of yours?"

"We broke up," Allison admitted, not that Sirius didn't already know. "And you're still cute," she added.

Sirius grinned at her. "Well, then. Sure."

They went to Hogsmeade and walked around together, which was uncomfortable but not too badly. She found the joke shop as amusing as he did, and agreed that they should both steer clear of Madam Puddifoot's.

Even better, when they were walking back together, Allison was the one who leaned over and kissed him, lightly, but Sirius shamelessly took full advantage. Like he was going to pass up on an opportunity to snog a hot bird.

All in all, Sirius counted his first date as a complete success.

########

James stared at Dorcas in surprise. Did she really just ask what he thought she did?

"Um… what?"

Dorcas rolled her eyes at him.

"I asked if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow. You aren't already going with anyone, are you?"

"Ah, no, no I'm not. Yeah, sure. I'll go with you."

Her eyes lit up in surprise and happiness.

"Great! I'll see you tomorrow!"

The next day found James escorting Dorcas around Hogsmeade. It felt odd, being on his first date with someone other than Lily, but he had been asking her since third year and he was a fifth year now. He wanted to go on a date at some point in his life.

He tried to enjoy his time with Dorcas, he really did. He listened when she talked and laughed at her few jokes. However, he couldn't help that his mind kept wandering to Lily Evans. It was while they were browsing in Zonko's that it happened. He saw Lily walk in the store holding hands with Benji Fenwick. He felt his heart drop to his feet. At the same time, he heard Dorcas calling his name.

"What, Lily?"

"What did you just call me?"

James panicked as he tried to backtrack. Dorcas was having none of it, however, and he was rewarded for his slip with a slap across his face. As he left the store to the snickers of his classmates, he couldn't help but wonder how he had managed to screw up his first date so spectacularly.

########

Remus had never been any good with girls. He never knew what to _say_; at what point did compliments become stalkerish? At what conversation was it okay to begin flirting? How was one even supposed to _flirt_?

Obviously, James and Sirius did not have this same problem, and that was precisely why Remus never bothered to ask them. That didn't, however, keep them from approaching him about it one day in fifth year.

"Mate," said Sirius, swinging himself onto the couch beside Remus. "Guess what?"

"What?" he asked disinterestedly.

"You know the Hogsmeade trip coming up tomorrow?" James smirked. "Well, we got you a date."

This was certainly not what Remus was expecting, and he raked the tip of his quill across his parchment as he gaped at his friends. "A _what_?"

"A date. Mary Macdonald, you know her. Evan's friend."

"With a _girl_?" Remus was dangerously close to raising his voice in a shout.

"She's very nice," said Sirius seriously. "Have fun with her!"

James and Sirius snickered and ran off before Remus could jab his quill into their arms.

Remus met Mary at Scrivenshaft's. She seemed just as nervous as he was, which put him at ease, oddly enough.

They spent about an hour in the store, looking at different quills and inks, and talking about their Arithmancy project due at the end of the month. It probably wasn't the most interesting date ever, but Remus was content. He even managed to relax around her after a bit.

Eventually, he took Mary over to The Three Broomsticks and did his utmost best to ignore Sirius, James, and Peter making kissy faces at them from another table. Mary seemed to take it in stride. She had two older brothers, she confided to him, and so was used to 'silly boys.'

It wasn't until the end of their date that things went downhill.

"I had a really good time, Remus," Mary admitted. "I wasn't sure I would, having been set up like that, but it was nice."

"I had a good time, too," he assured her, and he had.

Mary smiled softly, and brushed some hair behind her ear. "Maybe we could do this again sometime?" she asked.

Remus felt his spirits sink. He really liked Mary. She was quiet and studious, and she liked the same subjects he did. But could he risk her getting closer and figuring out his secret?

"Why don't we wait and see?" Remus offered, trying to buy himself some time to think it over.

Mary stiffened. "Oh," she said. "I see. I thought- Well, never mind, then. Thanks for the date and the quills, Remus. I guess I'll see you around?"

Remus didn't know what to say to stop her from walking away.

########

Peter was usually jealous of Sirius. He alwaysgot whatever girl he wanted. Lucky sod. But Peter had finally gotten one over on him. Sirius had had his eyes on a very pretty Ravenclaw, Marlene McKinnon. But Peter asked her to Hogsmeade weekend first, and she had actually said _yes_. He could admit, to himself of course, that he was surprised she had agreed. He had caught Sirius' eyes when she said yes, and he couldn't help but smirk at the dark look on his face. Finally, _finally_ he had gotten something Sirius wanted. He couldn't wait to take her out.

In hindsight, he should have realized that Marlene agreeing to go to Hogsmeade with him was too good to be true. He had made sure to act like the perfect gentleman, following her around to whatever stores she wanted to go to, buying her whatever she wanted. After hours of following her around like a puppy, they had ended up at The Three Broomsticks. They shared a plate of crisps and a few butterbeers. Finally, it was time to head back to Hogwarts.

"So… um… I… had fun today. Maybe we could do this again sometime?" he asked in a squeaky voice. He jumped when she started laughing very loudly. He was confused. Why was she laughing? He thought he had done everything right.

"Oh, Peter. Poor, naive, little Peter. You didn't think I was actually interested in you, did you? I only went out with you because I lost a bet. Thanks for all the presents though. I guess you are good for something."

With a flip of her hair, she turned away from him and made her way towards Hogwarts. As he looked around, he noticed that their conversation had not gone unnoticed. Thoroughly embarrassed and with a bright red face, he ran away from the crowds. So much for a great first date.


	7. Team Change Notice

**Team Change:**

We switched the teams around a little, so this is where the new Team Gryffinclaw is posting.

The new members of Team Gryffinclaw are:

luvsanime02

Flying Bottle Gnomes

Ambrosia Ice

butterflygirly99


	8. Gryffinclaw First Reward Challenge

**Prompt: ****Write about Sirius Black using these 4 words: burst, smile, bent, level.**

########

It was a rare sight to find Sirius Black without a smile on his face. He always had one, even when he was rejected by a crush. His heart just seemed to burst with every glance he'd send her way.

Despite the occasional rejection, Sirius did manage to stay decently happy for the most part. His comical personality, as well as extreme pranking abilities, kept him lively and young.

Others may have felt the need to mope around pining hopelessly after their crush, not that Sirius was naming anyone specifically (Prongs), but he wouldn't stoop to that level of melancholy. If there was anything Sirius had learned from living with his family it was that one always had to look on the bright side of any situation.

With that thought in mind, Sirius was determined that this was the day he was going to stop moping around and finally ask his recent crush out. How hard could it be? He was devilishly attractive, daring, and already had girls smiling at him everywhere he went!

His target was one Mary Macdonald. She was a Ravenclaw a year older than him, and quite pretty. While he wasn't sure how to go about the right way in getting her attention, he eventually came up with just the thing. It was classic, really. As he and his friends were walking to class one day he 'accidentally' bumped into her as they were passing.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, faking surprise. "Sorry about that."

"No, it's fine," Mary sighed, as she bent over to pick up her fallen books. Sirius rushed to help her.

"Well, since I have you here," he went on bravely, ignoring his growing audience, "do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?"

She looked up at him in some surprise, and Sirius heard James sigh behind him in embarrassment. Sirius ignored that too.

"Well," Mary said, balancing her books in her arms again, "I don't see why not."

Score! Sirius grinned widely. "Excellent! Let's meet by the front doors at ten?"

Mary laughed a little, and was smiling back at him. "Sure, I'll see you then."

She walked away, and Sirius turned back to his long-suffering friends triumphantly.

"Really, Sirius?" Remus asked him. "Did you have to run into her?"

Sirius shrugged. "Worked, didn't it?" And he walked away, a date planned for the weekend. Yes, it was definitely a good thing to know how to keep smiling.

########

The following weekend proved to be an impending disaster. Sirius couldn't figure out what to wear, the first sign of his distress. He could roll out of bed looking stylish, yet he couldn't figure out how to impress Mary without overdoing it.

She'd been raised as a muggle. Did that mean he should dress in nice muggle clothing? A nice pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt, with a leather jacket and a tie?

He felt like pulling his hair out. How could _one_ girl cause him to feel like this? His eyes shot over to the clock as it rang nine times.

_Only an hour to get ready, _he inwardly groaned. Maybe he could play sick? Would that work? He'd gone out with plenty of other girls. Why was Mary any different?

He opened the door to the 6th-years boys' dorm room and went downstairs, his feet carrying him to Evans before he even realised it. He needed a muggle-born's insight. Maybe she'd be able to give him some fashion tips to wear when taking one out.

Damn. Sirius couldn't believe that he was considering asking the redheaded girl for advice. Maybe it was his nerves getting to him. Just as he was about to turn back around and leave though, she noticed he was there. "Black?" she asked. "What do you want?"

Ever since the end of last year she'd been slowly becoming friendlier, but it wasn't like Sirius to seek her out like this. "You wouldn't happen to know what Mary might like to see me wearing on our date, would you?" he asked gamely. Why not, since he already had her here and everything.

What he wasn't expecting was to have to wait almost ten minutes for Evans to stop laughing.

Eventually, though, she got him sorted out, and Sirius had to admit, if only to himself, that she wasn't all that bad. Hopefully, she'd ease up around James a little and eventually give in to a date with his best friend. If she stopped James from moping around every time there was a Hogsmeade weekend, then Sirius would be thrilled with her. Not to mention the entire rest of the Hogwarts student body. A morose James Potter was no fun to deal with for anyone, even the professors.

With this hopeful thought in mind, Sirius started slowly walking down from Gryffindor tower an hour later, feeling quite uncomfortable in his muggles clothes that Evans had helped him transfigure. He hoped all this fuss would be worth it.

He stopped short when he saw Mary Macdonald waiting for him by the entrance doors. She'd dressed muggle too, and Sirius had never appreciated muggle fashion as much as he did while ogling Mary's bare legs. She was wearing a short dress.

Okay, all that fuss had definitely been worth it. Sirius grinned.


	9. Gryffinclaw First Immunity Challenge

**Prompt: Write about Harry learning to play an instrument.**

########

Harry hadn't looked at the flute he'd received from Hagrid his first year during Christmas at Hogwarts in _years_. The last time he'd looked at it - really looked at it - was when he and Ginny had moved into their house shortly before James was born. It was now coated in a thick sheet of grey dust. The old object looked almost unrecognizable in this state, yet it brought back so many memories from when he was young.

He could easily recall receiving the instrument. Like it was yesterday, Harry remembered when Hagrid had sent it to him as a Christmas present. It had been wrapped rather messily, a clear sign that Hagrid had done the packaging himself. After tearing away the few scraps of crumpled brown paper that covered the gift, he recalled looking down at it in surprise.

Harry had never known anything much about music, and his aunt and uncle hadn't exactly been keen on broadening his knowledge of the topic. At one point, Dudley had been signed up for piano lessons at a fairly young age, but eventually even Petunia had to agree that music wasn't for Dudley. The random, out-of-tune notes that would come from the living room when Dudley would play was enough to drive the Dursleys away from music altogether.

Harry originally had learned to play a b-flat major sequence - just enough to get past Fluffy, and even that had sounded horrible.

He knew learning how to play something like a wind instrument was like learning another language. If you didn't speak it often, knowing how to seemed to fade into a distant memory. If it was long enough, sometimes even picking up an instrument again wouldn't bring back any memory of _how _to play it either.

Harry wondered if he should ask Hermione for help. He remembered that when it'd been her turn to keep Fluffy occupied she'd played an actual melody. He could always ask Hagrid too. The half-giant would probably be only too happy to help Harry learn how to play for real this time. Still, Harry couldn't help but feel like he'd seem a little foolish asking either of them to help him out with something he'd forgotten about himself for so long.

Instead, Harry found himself taking out his wand and using a spell to wipe the dust away. He admired the craftsmanship of the wood flute for a minute or so, and then he brought the instrument to his lips and blew through it gently, trying to keep his fingers where he remembered they should be to reproduce a note.

There was nothing but silence. Harry lifted his shoulders in a silent laugh at how silly he must look, but gamely he tried again, blowing harder. This time, he heard his own breath whistling through the instrument, but nothing else. This was clearly going to take more effort than he'd thought, but Harry found himself almost looking forward to it.

He leaned back against a trunk and started attempting to teach himself how to play his old flute by ear. Harry figured that getting it to make any musical note at all would be a good start. He grinned at the challenge.


	10. Gryffinclaw First Tribal Council

_**AN: **__I decided to put up my (luvsanime02) Tribal Council submissions here too._

_**Prompt: Write about Veelas.**_

_########_

Fleur has been followed by whispers her whole life. Some are awed, some scornful, some simply distrusting, but they always pursue her.

She learns to tune them out. At first, she'd been so upset when her mother had sadly explained to her one day why the other girls were so mean and the boys were so smitten. She'd been ten years old, and the knowledge that her very blood was the problem had crushed her.

Visiting Scotland is horrible. She hates being in the cold and drafty castle, and all of the unfamiliar foods. Even worse, her very skin crawls the entire time that she's technically under the law of the British Ministry for Magic. She swallows her fear around the Ministry officials, and tries to affect unconcern. She can't forget, though. The entire time she's on British soil Fleur can almost feel the stares growing more and more hostile, especially after word gets around about her heritage.

She's not ashamed of being part-Veela. Far from it. Fleur comes from a rich history of fighters. Her family is the most important thing in her life, and she is tremendously loyal to them. She loves her mother and grandmother, who have always supported her, and none of the hardships she's faced have ever changed that.

Still, once everyone knows that Fleur has Veela blood, the whispers and gossip around her intensifies.

"Do you see her?"

"Strutting around like she belongs."

"Forget Potter. I wonder how _she_ tricked her way into the Tournament."

These malignant rumours, Fleur can ignore. It hurts, but sadly it's a hurt that she has lived with for years now. Even worse is the feeling that she doesn't belong here.

Not in the Tournament. Fleur is confident enough in her skills that she knows she has a chance at winning. No, it's the pervasive feeling that grows stronger each day, the one that develops into a little voice in her mind that says, "You're not welcome here. Your kind isn't wanted."

It's not the silly, vindictive girls that bother Fleur. It's Britain's very laws that categorise her as something not _human_. Those laws see her blood as something that separates her from them on such a deeply fundamental level that they no longer even consider her as a member of the same species.

It makes her blood go cold. It makes her leery around anyone from the Ministry. It's a fact that haunts her every time she wakes up in the carriage and knows that she has to venture outside again that day.

According to this country's laws, Fleur is something lesser, and this upsets her as much as it scares her. Scorn and ridicule is nothing compared to being looked at like you aren't even capable of feeling emotions to begin with. Barty Crouch, who she understands is quite high in the British Ministry, looks through her like she isn't even present.

It makes her want to shout at him, at all of them. Who are they to say that she doesn't exist?

Instead, she holds her tongue as her Headmistress has told her to. She holds her head up high and walks as though they are all beneath her.

It's better than the alternative of cowing down to their bigoted views.

No, Fleur refuses to be ashamed of being part-Veela. She does wish, though, that she could somehow make them all see that just because her blood is unique does not mean that it is poison.


	11. Gryffinclaw Second Immunity Challenge

**Prompt: Write about Hedwig and her owl friends.**

########

Hedwig was a proud owl, and so she loved to boast about how she and Harry Potter were friends - that she was his familiar. She'd often find herself bragging about this to all of her owl friends, and she very much enjoyed telling all of the tales (all true!) that she had about her owner, _the_ Harry Potter.

Although her friends were often dazzled by Hedwig's exciting adventures, they'd also find themselves jealous of her glamorous life. Most of her friends were simply in charge of delivering mail from student to parent, and vice versa, and rarely got to travel great distances and deliver top-secret messages.

Like the one time that Hedwig got to tell them all about flying to deliver a message from Harry Potter to Sirius Black…

After a long flight to some faraway and distant island where Sirius Black was hiding out, Hedwig came back expecting to be able to relax and perhaps catch a little bit of sleep. Unfortunately, as soon as she arrived back at Hogwarts, she was crowded around by all of her friends asking her where she had been for the past few weeks.

Hedwig knew that she couldn't reveal_ too_ much. However, she supplied her worried and interested friends with just enough information to spark hints of awe among them. She simply told them all haughtily that she had gone to deliver a top-secret letter containing information of the utmost importance. She may have even exaggerated a little when it came to her actual journey, informing them that she had flown for miles and miles off-flight in order to evade pursuers, with no help or sense of direction, and only relying on her wits and memory to lead her way.

One of her friends in particular was trying most unsuccessfully to hide his envy. Hedwig and the other owls knew, after all, that his mail deliveries were never so interesting. Of course, he got more regular exercise than her, since he was constantly called upon to fly back and forth from his human's home to Hogwarts, but his weekly trips lacked the sheer excitement and daring that Hedwig's were often made of.

Really, between the two of them, they had a bit of a competition going on over whose deliveries and services was currently of more importance.

So now, having just returned from her long flight, and carrying a response, no-less, Hedwig preened as she pretended that flying through storms and danger was nothing to be concerned over. Nothing to see here, nope. Just another day in the life of the one who safely delivers Harry Potter's mail. She sat on a perch, satisfied with everyone's admiration, and cleaned her feathers, affecting nonchalance. She'd totally won their little contest, for now.

Really, as if that snooty eagle owl of Draco Malfoy's could ever beat her when it came to a competition! She made sure to completely ignore him as she settled down even further, intent on finally getting some much-deserved shut-eye.

Of course, that just had to be when the Malfoy boy himself walked into the owlery with a letter to send home. Hedwig's friend (rival, really) made sure to send one disdainful flick of his wings her way before he alighted down from his own perch and onto his human's arm.

She huffed. Really, the boy could have at least waited one day before needing the use of a post owl. Hedwig wasn't too worried, though. She'd one-up him again, and meanwhile, her stories were still always more interesting than his so in a sense she _always _won.

Satisfied with that final thought, Hedwig started in on her long and well-deserved rest.


End file.
